


Besties With Apotheosis

by dogtit



Series: domestic rose blooms, eternity in motion [1]
Category: Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
Genre: Allusions to past Noncon/Dubcon (Nonexplicit), Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Post-Canon Fix-It, Starts Creepy; Ends Funny, anthy himemiya and her golden retriever dumbass of a girlfriend, anthy might be a demigod (its not clear.), offscreen kozue and shiori redemption arcs, utena might also be a god-adjacent metaphysical being but also gay and stupid and human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 19:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30077268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogtit/pseuds/dogtit
Summary: Fifteen years (well, almost sixteen, let's be fair.) after setting off from Ohtori Academy, Anthy Himemiya has a nightmare. Like fairytales often go, the most simple solution is often the correct one; reality is the same, when you get down to brass tacks.Or!Utena misinterprets a line of dialogue. Anthy is very patient. Nanami's day is ruined.
Relationships: Himemiya Anthy/Tenjou Utena
Series: domestic rose blooms, eternity in motion [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2221041
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	Besties With Apotheosis

**Author's Note:**

> hello ive been hyperfocusing on this for like 3 days. 
> 
> TW: for most of what utena the series itself advertises; there are no explicit scenes or mentions of dubcon/noncon or incest, but there's still memories of these implications and themes. please please exercise caution when reading!

Dios is dying. 

He is languishing, extinguished and heartsick, body wrung of nearly every last drop of power and life and energy in him. He lays before her on a bed of straw (or it could be linen, it could be dirt and ash, it could be anything) and the barn (the castle, the cottage, the grave) shakes around them with the storm just outside. There are men, always men, screaming men who pound on the walls and rattle the windows and beg, and demand, and push, and prod. Men who will never accept ‘no’, who will never understand, men who wring rocks for blood, sipping it down, feasting like ticks. 

Every father wants his daughter-bride-sister returned to him. Every princess needs saving from their beast-dragon-selves. No one wants to do it on their own, so the answer is Dios, always Dios, her brother, her darling prince, her one and only. He is all she has in the world, her precious big brother with his precious big heart, and the world is hollowing him out. 

“I have to go,” Dios begs. He can barely speak the words; his dark lips are chapped and his skin tacky with sweat, hair matted, eyes glossy. He is dying, he will die, and she will have no one. 

And she, a girl of seven (or perhaps she is fourteen, perhaps she is a thousand, eternal, neverborn) decides that even a prince needs to be saved. And what better answer to men than a witch? No man wants a witch except as kindling, no man wants a witch to devour, so she will become this for her brother, for his sake, for his heart. If the world is so entitled as to hate that which it craves, then she will simply bear the burden until Dios is better, until he is able to say no. She can handle it. It won’t be for too long, right? 

So she stands, on her maiden-matron-crone legs, wobbling. She is afraid. She is so afraid. She is determined. 

She blinks the tears from her eyes, and looks at Dios once more. She blinks once more.

Utena is dying.

She is languishing, extinguished and heartsick, body wrung of nearly every last drop of power and life and energy in her. She lays against the straw and smiles and then, oh, she  _ isn’t _ dying. She sits up, and then stands, graceful and fragile like a swan’s neck, and she reaches out. 

She takes Anthy’s hands in her own, and Anthy cannot breathe, cannot pinpoint when Utena took her Dios away, when Dios became this, when this fragile rose bloomed. But she doesn’t resist when Utena raises her hands to her lips, when she places careful kisses across her knuckles. Utena’s mouth is cold and wet, and she leaves blood behind, the shape carved on Anthy’s skin in crimson. Anthy is enthralled; she is repulsed.

“Miss Utena?” The words crackle like bird bones in Anthy’s throat, hollow and desiccated. “What are you doing here?”

“Himemiya,” Utena answers, with a name that no one else ever uses. Everyone else lays claim to her ( “Anthy”, demands Saionji, “ _ Anthy, _ ” Akio croons) or disregards her name entirely (Rose Bride, Whore,  _ Witch, _ ) but Utena, stupid and beautiful and oblivious Utena, in her manners and finery, gives it meaning.  _ Himemiya _ , ‘Princess Temple’, from that alone it should be an insult, a house for equally stupid girls and equally stupid hopes. Not a sanctuary but a prison, because what are girls if not things to be saved, and what are princesses if not things to be hoarded? 

But. 

Utena makes it mean something new, something soft and bright and good and wicked.  _ Himemiya _ means  _ My Friend _ ,  _ My Dear _ ,  _ My Beloved, My Poisoned Heart _ . It means everything and nothing. Anthy would rather discard every other title she possesses, has possessed, will possess; if only Utena can call her that for the rest of their lives. 

“ _ Himemiya _ ,” Utena calls her again, and their hands are clasped together, fingers against fingers, palm to palm. The masses outside roar and call and it’s always men, men and their hatred and their swords, the society they create that shapes little princes into kings and kings into machines; a Samsara of violence with Rose Brides at the tenderhearted center for the spokes of their desires to protrude from, to keep it turning. But Utena’s voice sings through her a third time, pulls Anthy from her dark cataclysm, and she says: 

“It’s time to go now, Himemiya.”

“Go?” Anthy mouths the word. “Miss Utena, aren’t you dying?”

Utena grins. Her teeth are pink, her gums pale, skin mottled with bruising and filth. The barn quivers and the noise is unbearable. Despite it all, Utena leads Anthy along, and Anthy follows because that’s what the Rose Bride does. 

How strange, though, that Utena is dressed like Dios and herself all at the same time. White tops on red shorts and gold, gold, everywhere, with that ridiculous cape. Utena intends to lead her to the swords, Anthy realizes, and then,  _ oh, of course she is _ , because hasn’t Akio promised her eternity? That’s fine, she thinks. Better for Utena to recognize her place. Because Anthy hates and loves them both in the same breath, the same withered beat of her heart, so it’s alright, really, it is. 

She loves Akio for the shadow he casts, but loathes everything else about him; the way he acts and sounds and touches and taketaketakes, her greedy older brother, her wicked Morning Star. And hadn’t Anthy realized what else he’d stolen from her when Utena had stumbled back with trembling knees, pale as if she’d been run through, eyes glazed? Not herself, never herself again, something smothered and stolen, and _ oh _ how Anthy’s heart had broken to see it, to see Utena fawn-skittish and feverish and guilt sick from fucking (being fucked by, being _molested by)_ Anthy’s brother, her affianced brother.

Yet, still, Anthy had been satisfied with seeing it too;  _ Your ideals and morals crumble in the face of selfishness like all the rest of us, _ she’d thought.  _ You’re nothing special. _

And  _ yet _ , oh! Oh! How she loves Utena too, adores and craves that uniquely cruel kindness from her thoughtlessness, how Utena’s own selfishness givegivegives but what  _ is _ hers to give is never properly given, damn the rest of them. She breaks the status quo of the duels just enough to make things infinitely harder for Anthy to bear on her shoulders, amuses Akio just enough to make him forget to treat her with kindness, and never quite gets the hang of stopping physical abuse either.  _ Bystander, bystander, isn’t silence its own violent crime? _

But Anthy cannot stop loving her, her hands and how they wrap around Anthy’s own like they were made to fit, to shape; how the sword of revolution pulses in Utena’s breast and comes when Anthy alone calls, how she kneels for Anthy to empower the blade than have Anthy kneel herself. How sweetly cantarella tastes when Utena feeds it to her, subservient in her own dominance.

_ I want to die with you _ , Anthy often thinks,  _ fold myself into your bones and perish at the end of the world. We could rot together, you and I. How beautiful would it be, the two of us, buried in the dirt with no coffin. Wouldn’t that be enough for us, Miss Utena? _

But Utena will not die with her, for that gentle and extinguishing end is for lovers, and Utena is not her lover. Utena isn’t even her prince. Utena is Akio’s princess, and Akio will use her up and gobble her down like any proper wolf, and Anthy will die for them on the swords until it’s time for her to mold (cultivate,  _ groom _ ) another duelist to try for Eternity once more. She isn’t sure what hurts more, as she allows Utena to pull her, allows herself to be thrown to the swords.

Except.

Except that Utena does not lead her to the front of the barn, to the swords. Instead, Utena pulls her toward the back, through shadows Anthy does not recognize, and across toward a narrow doorway too small to fit the two of them. Utena lets go of Anthy’s hands, and pushes open the door; light, warm and sweet spills across their feet. 

Utena steps away. Anthy stares at the light, and then down to her own hands. Even though Utena’s lips had only covered each knuckle, blood drips and spills over Anthy’s hands in an endless river. Not a cut or injury, because this isn’t  _ her own blood _ , why is Utena’s blood still here--pouring, endless, infinite? Anthy looks back to Utena, her heart beginning to pound because--

Utena is  _ dying _ . 

She is tarnished and mangled, cape and shorts and jacket ripped into scraps, but these wounds are only surface level. Scratches, bruises, blunt impacts. It’s the wound just above her right hip that makes Anthy’s breath catch, fear climbing the ventricles of her heart like roses on the trellis. Anthy’s hands shake; the patch of red on Utena’s side growsgrowsgrows and blood seeps from beneath the jacket, running down Utena’s milk white thigh, down into her sock. She is Dios, and she is not, back and forth, and then at the end she’s simply Utena. 

“It’s time to go, Himemiya,” Utena says again, like a spell, and her smile is so beautiful even with bile and blood dribbling across her lips. 

“Miss Utena,” Anthy croaks, “please, please, you’re dying,  _ please _ .” 

“I can’t lead you through. I can’t make you do it.” Utena steps away again and again. The barn has stairs, now an impossibly tall flight, where at the head sits the barn’s doors; they shake beneath the weight of man’s hatred. It pulses like a breathing thing, a monster to consume, and Anthy knows that a pound of flesh could never satisfy it. “You have to be the one to choose.”

“I can’t!” Anthy bursts, terrified. “I can’t choose, Miss Utena! Come back! Please--go through the light!” 

You cannot save me, Anthy wants to say. But I can do this for you, maybe. I can take it. 

I can take it, I can, I can, she thinks wildly, watching Utena ascend the stairs. I can take it, so don’t go! I can do it for you, for you alone, just for you, I can, so let me take it, let’s be together, I’ll be with you still, we’ll be together, we’ll be together--!

Blink. Utena is at the top of the stairs. She opens the barn doors slowly, like a witch did ten or a hundred or a thousand years ago. The men outside hush. They do not cheer. Utena gives them her back as she stares down at Anthy, and her breathing is labored, her face strained and smiling besides. Damn that smile, Anthy thinks, damn it and damn Utena too; she’s left a trail of blood and sweat and tears.

  
  
“Don’t leave me,” Anthy begs. Utena’s blood covers her hands. “Please, Miss Utena, don’t leave me.”

“This isn’t a world where you can shine,” Utena replies softly. 

“I don’t care if I don’t! I want you!  _ I want you! _ ” To love and hate and watch from afar, forever apart but--but--but Utena would still  _ be _ there in that false world, wouldn’t she? Anthy has lived with worse platitudes, really, it would be an upgrade just to be able to see Utena in glimpses, maybe share a word or two every so often. It’d be worth it.  _ It’d be worth it. _

“It won’t be for forever, Himemiya. Just a little while.” Utena breathes. “I’ll be okay. ‘Someday, together’, right?”

“Miss Utena!” 

“I can take it.” 

“ _ Utena, no! _ ” 

The men bellow; Utena slams the barn doors shut just as the first sword catches her in the heart, from behind. Anthy screams like she’s dying and scrambles up the steps, finally unfrozen. She slams her little body, her woman’s body, her putrid body against the doors again and again, maddened. Her nails scratch the wood as she hears the sounds of hatred chewing Utena’s bones into slivers, like a snarling beast feasting all wet and sloppily on her insides. It slurps up Utena’s intestines and makes maggot nests of her vocal chords, it crunches and sips and dines, whets its endless appetite on the never ending sacrifice of girl-princes and would-be-witches. 

Anthy beats her fists against the grainy wood, as feral as humanity outside is; Utena’s blood splashes off of her hands with every swipe, every hit, showering her until it’s all she can see and taste, all she can feel and smell when she falls to her knees. 

Utena doesn’t make a sound, even as the doors buck and bounce from how desperately the crowd rips her apart. Eventually, it all blurs into the background noise of Anthy’s own grief. She’s sent Utena to her death thrice over, once with flowers and now with a sword to the back, now with a million shining  _ teeth _ of hatred, oh, Anthy is so  _ tired _ of swords and all their ilk beside. But she raises her head, because she can’t stand the smell of Utena’s blood anymore, because Utena came all that way to help Anthy find that secret little door, gave herself up to open it--

And it would be too cruel to ignore this in favor of wallowing in Utena’s death any longer. Anthy looks at that opened door.

She wanders down the stairs. 

Outside is not eternity, but reality, a reality where Utena might be (either in the ground or barely alive to begin with) and somehow that’s more terrifying. Anthy lingers in her barn, in her coffin. And then she takes a step over the threshold, crying, and that’s how she wakes up, sobbing into the open air and struggling to breathe. She thrashes in her sheets, thinks of coffins and princes until she’s able to roll out of her bed, stumble to her bathroom, and fumble with the light. 

Anthy Himemiya, in the most pristine act of humanity, kneels over the toilet and throws up. Then she cries. Throws up again, until the phantom taste of Utena’s blood is gone. At the end of it, she’s simply left gasping into her own mess, sticky with sweat. Anthy does not collect herself gracefully, because free of her coffin she feels  _ so _ much,  _ all _ the time, and it’s honestly so awful. Not nearly as awful as being back in Ohtori Academy, of course, but it’s still not something she’s a huge fan of. 

Not for the first time, Anthy resents Utena a little for being such a fucking hero. Not for the first time, she feels unimaginable guilt for being resentful at all, considering what Utena paid for in blood. 

If Utena were here, Anthy thinks, she wouldn’t be mad that Anthy was resentful. She’d be happy just to hear that Anthy was angry at her at all. Then again, if Utena were here, Anthy wouldn’t be puking from nightmares. 

It hasn’t been ten years since that cursed duel, no. It’s been fifteen. Going on sixteen years now, actually. Anthy would have to triple check her calendar to be sure, though. You wouldn’t think that an immortal of her strength would have given up on the sixth year of her search, but you’d be wrong; Anthy had combed through the world at least seventeen times in total, each more thorough a search than the last, but Utena had eluded her each and every time. If she even exists in reality, of course. 

If she exists, then she doesn’t want to be found. Not by Anthy, at least. So eventually Anthy had gotten the message, gotten therapy (to an extent; censoring her fairytale torment to fit reality’s demands probably dampened some effect, but she’d been as honest as she could possibly be) and gotten a one bedroom apartment on the fourth floor. There are plants on the balcony, a kitchenette where she practices cooking every other day, and a vintage shaved ice maker her coworkers had gotten her for Christmas as a joke. It has all of her essentials and her knick knacks and her Chu-Chu, but it lacks Utena, so it’s no home. 

Anthy makes due, though, because she knows she has the choice to leave if she wants. 

It’s well past midnight when Anthy finally gets off of the bathroom floor, flushes away her vomit, and takes a shower. She brushes her teeth after, and shuffles to the desk. She hits the lamp, pulls out her notebook--brushes her fingertips against the little shrew that lives among her post-it packs and paperclips--and grabs a neat, red pen. 

And Anthy writes out her dream. She does not skimp on the detail or redact anything, and it takes two and half pages before she’s satisfied. Then she flips to a clean page, and writes out how it made her feel, catalogues the emotions and the problems, like her therapist had taught her too. She pinpoints the people she is angry with--Akio, Utena, and herself--and writes out how each of these villains made her feel. Anthy is careful not to overindulge on self loathing, because her therapist has told her that self pity is just an overextension of ego, and it ruins the point of the process. 

For Akio, she writes;  _ I am upset because you were supposed to take care of me, and instead, you turned me toward a living hell. You r _ her pen goes askew, and she can’t write out the word right now, tender and nervous, so she concludes with,  _ you are a horrible person, and I will never go to you again. _

For herself, she writes;  _ You betrayed her.  _ And leaves it at this. 

For Utena;  _ You left me. _ Which is unfair, Anthy knows, but her feelings are valid and she deserves to have them listened to, if only by herself. She makes herself a pot of tea; she checks on Chu-Chu to make sure he’s still sleeping; she paces. She checks her calendar and, well, it will be the sixteenth year of Utena’s death in three days, which explains a lot. Anthy should have realized it, since her nightmares always make a return in severity and surreality close to this date. 

She sips her tea. She sits on her bed, and then curls up with a pillow. Crying had been an exercise in futility, in Ohtori; Anthy had never been able to properly utilize it as a tool against either duelists or Akio or the audience of students at large, so she’d stifled the urge. That wasn’t to say that she didn’t tear up, on occasion, but actually  _ crying _ , sobbing, ugliness and all had ever happened with Utena. So, mourning and sick to her stomach, Anthy gathers up a pillow and mashes her face against its surface--it’s the scaley, plastic kind that changes colors when Anthy brushes up against it--and cries some more. 

She even allows herself a whimper. “Utena,” it comes out. She hesitates, and decides, well, why not? Dreams are dreams for a reason, and she can say these words in the darkness where no one can hear her or judge her. “Don’t leave me. Utena, come back, please,  _ Utena. _ ” 

Chu-Chu senses something that Anthy is too emotionally ensnared to register and shoots up out of the little shoebox he’s claimed as his bedding. Something that, when she looks back upon this moment, she will recognize as  _ power _ , magic, unreality forming into the real world yet-not. She’s only brought out of it when Chu-Chu starts screeching, bouncing up and down against her bed and beating his little fists on her ankles. 

“Ow,” Anthy sniffles into her pillow, not even lifting her head. “ _ What? _ ”

_ Bang, bang _ , goes her door. Then, incredibly; “ _ Himemiya?! _ ” 

Anthy’s head snaps up so fast that she feels a crick in her neck. Hissing, she tumbles out of bed with an audible thump; her neighbors will be  _ quite _ upset if this sort of shit continues. With a less than graceful scramble, Anthy rushes for her front door. Hits it hard because she’s half skidding, half dragging on a robe and, in her shaking rush-- _ It’s impossible, it can’t be, it can’t _ \--she stubs her toe twices, shouts, “ _ Fuck! _ ”, scares Chu-Chu, and only then she wrenches open the door. 

Utena Tenjou, in the tattered remains of her duelist uniform from fifteen years ago, has the fucking audacity to be out there just. Standing on the fucking placemat. Like this is just a normal, average thing that happens. She’s also covered scalp to sole in her own blood, the only color aside from  _ redredredred _ being her soggy dark jacket, her eyes, and her pink hair. Utena was in mid knock so she reels back her swinging fist, holding both arms in the air like a moron. 

“Himemiya!” Utena shouts. “Are you alright?!” 

And before Anthy can even begin to unpack this, the next door neighbor opens his door and pokes his head out, grumpy. Ted Wilten is a very nice man who lives with his very nice husband, and Anthy only feels remotely safe with them because they bring her cheese quiche and are stupidly, sickeningly in love, but oh sweet fucking mercy, why. 

“Jesus fuck!” Ted Wilten sputters, seeing the blood drenched Utena on Anthy’s doorstep. “Oh my God!” 

“Hi,” Utena says, the moron. 

“ _ Jesus fucking Christmas _ !” He’s whiter than copy paper. “I have to--I’m gonna call--police? Police, gonna--”

Anthy reverts to bad habits. She flings magic his way and warps his perception, manipulates his emotions, without a shred of guilt, the same kind of wickedness that turned Nanami into a cow and other such stupidity. Anthy isn’t powerless in reality, as much as she’d sort of like to be.

“Go back to sleep, Ted,” Anthy says, calm as you please, and Ted Wilten nods, slack jawed, and retreats back into his apartment. She then grabs Utena by a soggy lock of hair, blood seeping from between her trembling fingers, and yanks her in. Utena has to stoop in because she’s always been taller than Anthy and, fuck, Utena is  _ here _ is  _ right here _ and whimpering ‘Ow ow ow Himemiya, my hair!’ all the while. 

Anthy tunes her out, shoves Utena into the bathroom, and says, “Shower. Now.” Then, to Utena’s starstruck expression, she shuts the door and leans against it. 

There’s a thump. Utena’s body against the door. Maybe. 

“Himemiya?” 

“Shower,” Anthy orders with a voice that cracks. “Please. You’re getting blood everywhere.” 

“I am? Oh I am. Okay, okay, I’ll--I’ll shower, just--I’ll be quick!”

“Okay.”

“Himemiya? Uh, sorry, are you mad at me?” 

“There are towels under the sink,” Anthy responds instead, because tackling that tangled mess of emotions is outside of her expertise at the moment. It  _ should _ be, because Anthy has graduated therapy and her sessions are mostly ‘maintenance’, but right now she’s sort of thinking;  _ this is just another dream.  _ When she wakes up, she will have to apologize to Ted with (store bought) key lime pie and schedule an appointment with her doctor, because this is a really bad episode of emotional distraughtness.

Anthy closes her eyes. She’s still leaning against the door as she hears Utena start the shower. When she opens them, and her fist besides, she sees that there is no blood on her hand; rather, a rose petal sits on her palm. Anthy follows the trail she’d made with Utena, and like her hand, the blood is roses instead. 

Fuck. “Fuck,” says Anthy. 

While Utena finishes up her shower, Anthy drags out a spare set of lazy day clothes--a tracksuit, really, a tacky thing she’d found at Goodwill--and lays them at the doorway because she is absolutely not going into the bathroom, not to see it empty and that this is all a very convoluted, hysterical nightmare-dream-fantasy. Anthy lives in reality, yes, she loves it here (usually.) but it’s been a hot thirty three minutes, so she’d like to make believe that Utena is  _ here _ and  _ alive _ (?) and taking a shower. 

Then she hears it squeak off. Some dull rustling and movement. The door of her bathroom creaks open; more rustling. Utena’s putting on her clothes. She shakes when she tracks Utena’s footsteps by sound, and then inhales sharply, shutting her eyes. She smells her own shampoo and soap; feels the steaming heat of Utena hovering just beyond sight. Anthy trembles on the sofa, until she hears Utena settling in front of her. Hands at her knees make her flinch, from the heat of it, the  _ solidity _ of it. 

“Himemiya?” Oh, Utena’s saying it in that tone of voice, like they’re both back in the tower holding hands across the bedding. “Are you afraid?”

“Yes,” Anthy rasps. Utena’s hands do not move from her knees, either forward or back. They just sit there, firm and tangible. “I’m terrified.” 

She hears Utena swallow. “Of me?” she asks in a fragile voice. 

“Yes. No! I don’t--I don’t know. I don’t know if this is real or a dream.” 

“I came all this way to see you,” Utena says, and Anthy feels the words carve through her like a sword through the back (and how intimately familiar that sensation is, both receiving and giving.) She snaps her eyes open and Utena’s kneeling there. She looks older by a few years--not as many as fifteen, maybe eight, nine years--but she’s  _ there _ , so close Anthy could touch her. So Anthy does. She reaches out with her weak hands and cups Utena’s cheeks, revels in their ruddy color--Utena always ran the water too hot, scrubbed her face with bar soap and nails--and how different yet familiar Utena’s face feels and looks. Her breathing sharpens, then goes erratic; her vision swims with tears. 

“Utena,” she says. “It’s--it’s really you?”

“Yeah,” Utena says, and she sounds about as distraught as Anthy does. “This is the real world, after all.”

“But the blood--the roses.” 

“Oh!” Utena blinks. “Well you, you said the blood was...I dunno. I guess it sort of changed on its own because I didn’t want to get your house dirty.” 

“Apartment. And, what.” The word comes out flat.

“Yeah, I’m uh, a little omniscient right now. Omnipotent? Omnipresent? Himemiya, do you know the difference, because I don’t--”

“ _ What??? _ ”

“I dunno!” Utena shrugs helplessly. Anthy, equally helpless, is in love with how ridiculous this all is. “Things are happening! We’re in America, right? You know I was helpless with English, but I understood Ted Wilten. You’re the magic expert, not me, okay?” 

“You know his name,” Anthy notes distantly, not in the mood to respond to the (maybe?) jab at her witcher-y business. “How do you know his name, Utena?”

And Anthy watches as Utena’s expression slackens, then grows panicked. Her eyes silver like the edge of a knife; light catches, flickers, violates. Anthy knows that glimmer all too well, and fear wrenches a fist through her heart. Of course, she thinks. Of course the Swords would not leave Utena so easily. 

“I know that his father beat him and his mother drank and his school painted slurs all over his locker,” Utena says, her voice quiet and quivering. “Hatred never leaves, Himemiya, and it’s everywhere. Real or fantasy or even fake. Where hatred is...is where I am, too, in little ways, in any way, in impossible ways.”

“Oh,” Anthy chokes. “Utena. Oh,  _ Utena _ .”

But then Utena’s eyes soften, and the Swords fade, as if they had never been. Utena smiles weakly, and she reaches to hold Anthy’s hands. Their fingers fit together perfectly, as if they’d never been apart for so long. Anthy knows that fairytales were made to tell of destiny and fate and wonder, but reality is circumstance and coincidence, so she’s understandably afraid of the possibility of being dragged into the reality where coffins are bedding. Still…

Still. 

“They’re quiet, you know,” Utena says gently. “We’ve made an accord.”

“We?” 

“Yeah. I’ll tell you more about it later, Himemiya.” Utena smiles, smug and prideful, like she used to do on the basketball courts. 

A single girl against a team of crowing boys and she won, handily; Anthy remembers attending each practice after tending to the roses, because what else was Anthy to do with her time, really? And clapping politely, at first, then with a little more genuine strength, because Utena shone brightest when she was a normal girl excelling in sports she liked rather than the dueling arena. It’s a fond memory. It’s a memory Anthy has picked up out of her treasure chest and giggled over, rubbing invisible thumbs along the seams until they frayed; and she couldn’t remember quite so well if it had been the fourth or fifth time that Utena had gotten cornered into autographing some girl’s shirt, or been hit in the head with a bottle of water, or ran for Anthy, crying,  _ Himemiya, let’s go home--they’re trying to steal my shorts! _

“I waited,” Utena continues. “Just like you asked. I’ve--I’ve been waiting for you to call out…”

“Waiting?” Anthy echoes distantly. “Utena--I’m so sorry. I’ve been looking--”

“Yeah, I know!” Utena brightens, somehow. “Did you enjoy the trips?” 

Anthy thinks on that. Utena, bless her, is too ridiculously genuine for passive aggression so she’s actually happy that Anthy spent six years and then gave up. After a moment, Anthy nods slowly. 

“I liked Egypt the best,” she says slowly. 

“My favorite was Brussels,” Utena giggles. “Your accent’s really cute.”

“You were watching?”

“Listening,” Utena corrects. “I could never see you, and I couldn’t really hear you all the time--they’re all so loud, you know,” (Anthy knows.) “, but I could  _ always _ hear you when you were asking after me. Always, Himemiya.” 

She sounds so proud. So happy. Anthy’s lip trembles. “I gave up on you,” she says.

“I know that, too,” Utena says. “And I was happy then, too. You started living, Himemiya.” 

That much was true. Before Ohtori, Anthy was surviving; in Ohtori, she was existing; and those first few years, Anthy was just  _ There _ , focused on her goal rather than seeing the sights, seeing past them to try and see  _ Utena _ . But then she gave up, and she found her doctors and her footing, and she decided to shine anyway. And Anthy isn’t going to be humble here; she’s done a pretty good job of it all, occasional depressive episodes aside. 

“I did,” Anthy agrees. She finds herself smiling. “And you found me, anyway.” 

“You called out for me,” Utena says, her shoulders setting back, chin tilting, like she’s just about to fight for Anthy’s honor (to keep her out of Saionji’s hands, Touga’s hands).

“Was that all I had to do?” Anthy asks, wryly, but her smile is stopped when Utena nods in all seriousness. “Wait. Utena. Are you telling me that...you could come see me? This whole time?”

“Not all, just most!” Utena says. “I was really stuck, for like, two years!” 

Anthy twitches. “Just...two?”

“Yeah!” 

“Utena.”

“Himemiya?”

“Are you telling me,” Anthy says, all sweetness, starting to squeeze Utena’s adorable cheeks and her beautiful face and her empty head between her hands, “that you heard me looking for you, and you could come to me, and you never did?”

“You said ‘wait for me’,” Utena answers, her words smushing a little from the fishlike impression Anthy is forcing her lips into.  _ You shaid wai’ fer me. _

“Utena. I meant, ‘wait for me’ to  _ find you _ .” 

“Ohhhhh,” Utena says. “I thought you needed space.” 

Anthy smiles. She knows she smiles because Utena’s eyes bug out of their sockets, and she starts to panic and sweat between Anthy’s hands. She’s not  _ genuinely _ afraid of Anthy, despite everything between them, but she knows what that smile means. 

“Oh, Utena,” she cooes with malice, “you are so fucking stupid.”

And Anthy just starts to  _ shake _ Utena’s head around, like she’s got a stubborn piggy bank and there’s a stubborn little penny that she needs  _ just _ out of reach, if only she could coax it back down through the slot. The entire way, Utena sputters, “ _ HI-ME-MI-YA, _ ” and endures it, because she knows she deserves it, the dope. So stupid, Anthy thinks with a squeamish mix of euphoria and outrage, so goddamn noble and stupid, what an  _ idiot _ , her utterly unbelievebly undeniably  _ good _ and abhorrent Utena. 

“Himemiya!” Utena squawks. “Please! I’m getting dizzy!” 

Anthy stops. Her cheeks ache from her smile, so she stops, and instead laughs. It starts empty, then it grows bitter, until it slowly morphs into something like hysterical relief. They aren’t cackles, because Anthy is conscious of the later hour in as much as she is Utena’s damp hair tickling the tips of her fingers, but she feels like she  _ could _ , either way. Utena is here. Utena is here and could have been here so much sooner, but Utena stayed away--not because she hated Anthy, but because she cared for Anthy’s safety, and catalogued every moment apart with milestones of healing, of praise, of sorrow. She knows she’s doing better, because Utena starts to giggle with her; bubbling little things, half stifled by her pursed lips, mutated by the way she tries not to smile and fails. 

Her delicate, wonderful failure. Anthy cannot stop herself. 

“Utena,” Anthy declares, “I am going to kiss you right now.”

“Hehehehuh???” Utena’s eyes bug out again. Oh, you silly thing, Anthy thinks with adoration. “Wait, H-Himemiya, don’t you think this is too fast? I j-just got here!” 

“I am absolutely going to kiss you.” She blinks, slow. “Unless you don’t want to? That’s alright, if you don’t,” and it’s the truth, even if she’s a little disappointed too. 

“Oh, n-no, no no no, Himemiya, I want!” Utena yelps it, and her hands land on Anthy’s thighs, but they aren’t seductive, no. Utena just rests them there, guileless and brave. She stares up at Anthy without any sort of reverence or worship, just open and honest affection. How gorgeous, Anthy thinks. How lovely, her Utena. 

“It’s just,” and Utena looks away, nibbling on her bottom lip. “It’s just, I don’t know. What if I mess it up?” 

Anthy wants to laugh at her, and barely restrains herself. “What do you mean, Utena? It’s not like either of us have never been…”

Utena goes rigid underneath her hands and Anthy closes her eyes. How sloppy of her, to not see the pitfall, she scolds. The subject of Akio is an old one for Anthy; time has let her set that hurt aside, for the most part. He is irrelevant for all the things she’s done for and to him, but for Utena--how much sway does he hold? Utena isn’t like her. Utena isn’t like anyone at all. 

“I’m sorry,” Anthy apologizes, “I shouldn’t have--”

“It’s not our first kiss,” Utena says. She softens in Anthy’s hands, leaning a cheek into one palm, eyes drooped. Adoring. Anthy’s heart quivers to see it. “But it’s…  _ our _ first kiss, you know? I don’t--I don’t want to mess it up, Himemiya. I’ve waited to see you for so long,” and there, there, there, Anthy hears  _ longing _ and  _ yearning _ that she knows is reflected in her own heart, a sort of selfish loneliness, a greed that Utena probably despises in herself, “I can wait a little longer, okay?”

“What makes you think you’d mess it up?” Anthy strokes her fingers into Utena’s hair, combs through.

It’s longer than it used to be, maybe more wavy--from her shower or her time outside of Reality and Ohtori, in-between, lost in the parallel dimension where Eternity and Void exists in tandem, Anthy can’t tell--so she can’t pass her hands through the whole pink mane of it, but Utena sighs and leans closer, her chest against Anthy’s shins. Her head falls into Anthy’s lap, arms folding around Anthy’s waist, and she nuzzles so close and so tenderly that Anthy near cries. 

“I failed you,” Utena mumbles against Anthy’s stomach. “I let you fall. I always sat by and let Akio hurt you and I...I didn’t think…”

Anthy clicks her tongue, petting Utena’s head again. Nostalgia curls kitten-fur-soft in her chest, purring sweetly; she remembers cuddling with Utena like this in Ohtori, but they didn’t call it that. Sunlit days on the hill, Utena’s head in her lap as they snuck naps together, enjoying the breeze. As the Rose Bride, any moment not spent at another’s whims was a blessing--and Utena did her fair, oblivious, share of ordering Anthy around, of not  _ listening _ \--but those afternoons together had been something to cherish. Utena, trusting Anthy (however foolhardy) with her sleeping form, vulnerable and open. Anthy, treasuring the moments where she didn’t have to hide a thing, even from Utena; where she could pet and fuss and  _ feel _ , maybe, for a little bit, like a regular girl.

“Utena?” Anthy waits until Utena looks at her again, and says, “I forgive you, for not seeing. I didn’t want you to see. And I’m...I’m sorry. For betraying you. For hurting you, and leading you…”

“I forgive you too,” Utena says. “I know what you felt. I know how you...how you saw me. How you saw him.” 

Anthy did not see the true depth of hatred, when the Swords had her. They were so focused on their prince, their witch, that it eclipsed any other thought. Are the Swords different for Utena? Does she look upon the wealth of hatred, the millions of blades, and see each one before it carves into her? And how many of them are of Anthy’s make? She knows Utena won’t tell her, because Utena’s just forgiven her, and Anthy--oh, is it selfish to feel relief from that? After everything she’s done? Anthy bends over, drapes herself over Utena as best she can.

“Himemiya,” Utena murmurs, “I’m still sorry. For pretending to be a prince, and all.” 

“It’s alright,” Anthy soothes. “I’ve done my fair share of pretending, haven’t I? It was survival, for us both. It’s over, now.” 

Utena is quiet. “Yeah,” she says finally. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” 

They part, but not really. Not in any way that matters. Anthy stands slowly, helps Utena rise with her. It’s a little insulting that she has to tilt her head further back than she remembers just to see Utena clearly, but then, that means Utena can change. Grow. Fairytales have a habit of freezing you in suspension; you are a child to be protected (or eaten) until you need to be an adult to be tried (to be killed) until you’re ready to be an old nanny or a crone or a lost little grandmother clawing her way from a wolf’s stomach. There is no smooth transition, no passage of time deemed regular; even Anthy, in the real world, will never age as much as the people around her; little bits here and there, enough to let people see that she is by no means a child in body, spirit, or mind. 

Has Utena fallen under the same curse? Ohtori had spirited her away, through princehood and blood, but she was born in this world…

“Okay,” Utena declares. “I’m gonna kiss you now, Himemiya.”

Anthy laughs. Her hands cradle Utena’s ribs, noting distantly that the tracksuit is ill-fitting: sleeves stopping in the middle of Utena’s forearms, the hem baring her midriff, the pants punched around her shins. She’s so beautiful that Anthy hurts, like she’s swallowed a million and one swords herself.

“Is that what you want?”

Utena’s confidence falters. “Is that what  _ you _ want?”

“Oh, yes,” Anthy says. “Absolutely. Enthusiastically.” 

“Okay, phew, don’t scare me like that, Himemiya! I really thought I was gonna--”

Anthy rocks up on her tiptoes, and cuts Utena off before they can start chasing each other in circles again. Kissing Utena is like nothing she’s ever experienced before; there’s a lack of talent and tact and, well, skill in the way Utena sighs against her mouth, melts, her strong arms curling over Anthy’s shoulders. So sweet and innocent; virginity is a far off construct for the both of them, but the thing about constructs is that they can be reused, and Anthy decides then and there that this is her first kiss. It’s the first one that she cares about, the first one she wants to treasure, hoard away into her chest and heart forever and ever and ever; catalogues the way Utena tastes like skin and toothpaste and nothing special, and being all the more special for it. One hesitant kiss turns to two, then three, all chaste and careful and new. 

There’s no rush, Anthy thinks lazily. Absolutely no rush. They drift towards Anthy’s bed, and Chu-Chu greets Utena with little hugs, high wails, blubbering tears--Utena soothes it all--and they drop into the sheets and snuggle up together. Even alone, together, like this, there’s a knot of tension in the air. Utena looks nervous; she peeks at Anthy from beneath her lashes every now and again. Anthy stares at her, completely unabashedly. 

“Utena,” Anthy starts. “This is real, isn’t it?” 

She hates how fragile it sounds. 

“Of course, Himemiya,” Utena says. She shuffles onto her side, and like magnets, they find each other’s hands. “It’s real. I’m right here.” 

“How?”

“You called for me,” Utena says. “You said, ‘come back’, so I did.” 

“But  _ how _ ,” Anthy asks. She stresses, “Who opened your coffin? Who took the Swords? How are you alive, here, and now? How, Utena?”

“I never went back into one,” Utena answers. “It’s not like the Swords left me, Himemiya. They’re still here. I told you, we--we have an accord. Can I tell you later? I just want--” She looks down at their hands, tangled together on the sheets. “--I just want to sleep here, like this, with you.”

It takes Anthy’s breath away. The mysteries can wait for tomorrow, Anthy decides, so she kisses Utena again, and curls up close. Only relaxes when she feels Utena’s arms curl around her waist, her shoulders, pillowing her head. Then Anthy sleeps without dreaming, and wakes up still curled up in Utena’s arms. Utena is snoring in her ear, Chu-Chu is drooling in her hair, and Anthy realizes in this very moment that she has never known paradise until here, until now. She smiles and shuffles closer, her lips against Utena’s neck; Utena snorts, smacks her lips, and mumbles, “  _ Miya, _ ” before smooshing a sleepy kiss against the crown of her head. 

In the morning light, together, they shine. Anthy doesn’t need to see it to know that they’re doing so, but she peels open her eyes anyway, because if she gives into the desire to sleep any more she’ll throw off her whole sleep schedule. And, maybe, she wants to see Utena as the first thing when she wakes up. Maybe that’s selfish, but it’s what she wants, and Anthy is no longer a Rose Bride or a princess or anything at all, really; so she opens her eyes, finally. 

It’s just as she thought. Utena shines and Anthy sees herself shining with her. But then Anthy blinks the sleepfog out of her eyes, and reality starts to peel back the poetry of their reunion slowly, gently. Utena’s face is more narrow than it was, baby fat and youthful cheer carved from her face; her jawline is sharp and noble, her nose narrow, but there are bruises under her eyes--

_ Blink _ . 

Utena is  _ dying _ \--

No! Anthy sits up, wrenching free of Utena’s arms, and sending Chu-Chu flying. Utena wakes up on an aborted snore, and lays flat on her back, staring up at Anthy with drowsy eyes. Her mouth moves,  _ Himemiya? _ , but Anthy’s ears don’t hear her voice above the clatter of Swords, above the phantom notes of a carousel, above her own heart crying in poignant agony. With the sheets displaced, with the light, without the distraction of reunion and Utena’s arms and her  _ kisses _ and all of that nonsense, Anthy gets a look at the skin on display. There are scars, thin white lines and dark sluices of red, all along. The most terrible, inflamed of which is the one just above Utena’s right hip, below her ribs. 

Anthy makes a sound. She isn’t sure what it is; grief? Horror? Disgust, maybe. It’s really not an objectively pretty sight, just Utena’s stomach alone. 

“Himemiya,” Utena calls. “Himemiya, hurry. Take my hand.” 

In the coffin. A thin stream of light piercing through, finally, heavensent. Miss Utena pressed against the lid, sweating and screaming like a nightmare; her fingers were ruined, nails cracked and bleeding, and she was dying;  _ Hurry,  _ Miss Utena had begged,  _ take my hand! _ And she’d remained there for the Swords to devour, she might have been able to leave if Anthy hadn’t  _ stabbed her in the back, hadn’t taken another prince yet again and _ \--

“Himemiya,” Utena breathes. Her hand takes Anthy’s and, without any sort of fanfare, forces it to her stomach. Right over the scar, the mark of her deathblow; Anthy’s masterpiece. “Please. Please, please. Don’t leave me, either.” 

The thing is that, now that Anthy is  _ looking _ , her hands are mangled, too. A little crooked, like they’d broken themselves on stone coffin lids and rose thorns and magic, and never healed right. She can see patches of skin, raised, through the back of Utena’s hands; feels their twins on her palms. Stigmata. 

“I don’t understand,” Anthy husks. She looks at her hand against Utena’s stomach, her long fingers stretched over old and new scars, the heel of her hand against clenched abdominals. Her scarless, pristine hands against Utena’s battered body. That was the strangest thing, when she’d left Ohtori. All of the scars she’d gained over her long, short, various years under Akio’s thumb were gone, leaving her reborn in perfect health and untouched skin. The worst of them, really, were deep inside, like most traumas were. 

“I guess,” Utena hedges, “maybe it’s because I was born in this world, first? So it carries over, or something. I don’t--I don’t know. Just...it’s okay.” 

If Anthy returned to Ohtori, or its approximate reality, would  _ her _ scars return? And if so--

“Himemiya, it’s okay,” Utena says again. “ _ It’s okay _ . I forgive you. I always have. I understand.” 

Yes, Anthy supposes, looking into Utena’s sword slick eyes, of all people, Utena did. The same man had hurt them--or men, if you included Saionji and Touga--the same Swords plagued them, the same expectations trapped them. There really is a sort of solidarity with that, but Anthy has the honor of inflicting a special sort of pain. Her dreams always leave her red handed, blood she spilled and can never repay, words she can never reclaim.

But does she have to? Isn’t it enough to accept her guilt, and atone for it equally? Isn’t it enough for Utena, who she has hurt so terribly, to say  _ I forgive you _ ? Anthy realizes that she will just have to trust Utena on her word. And so, Anthy does, because this is  _ Utena _ , and as terribly thick as she can be, Utena’s heart has always been so, so good, so open, so strong. 

Anthy’s hand skins off of the scar, petting across Utena’s stomach. She feels the muscles beneath clench in laughter, and to her shock, the mark where Anthy plunged her sword is faded, dull, and not at all as vicious as it was before. More magic? Like with the blood, she supposes. Utena hadn’t wanted to dirty Anthy’s house, and now she doesn’t want to dirty Anthy’s hands. 

It’s noble, without self sacrificing. Nothing like what a prince would do. Not at all.

“Even scars aren’t eternal,” Anthy muses out loud, eyes softening. “Not with you, hm? I suppose nothing ever is.”

“Love is.” 

Anthy doesn’t mean to bark out a laugh, but it escapes anyway. Disbelieving, she says, “ _ What? _ ” and laughs in Utena’s face. It’s cruel, maybe. But how...how childish--

“No, hear me out!” Utena sits up, and Anthy has the pleasure of feeling all of those muscles at work until Utena picks up her hand between both of her own, squeezing. “Love is eternal. I guess hate is too, but love--love is  _ always _ there.” 

“Eternity is a fairytale, Utena,” Anthy says gently. “There’s nothing in castles but dusty, crumbling furniture and rats and decay. Wasn’t that what you discovered, at the end of the world? There’s no power, no miracle, no nothing. Your revolution came through your actions throughout, through the people you touched. It had nothing to do with that power.”

“I was never after the  _ power _ ,” Utena says. “Himemiya, you’re talking like I didn’t find my eternity. Don’t you know? It was you. All along, it was you.”

Anthy’s brain and heart both do this funny little thing, where they shut down and speed up and maybe explode. Her jaw drops. 

“Here’s the truth! Love is an eternal thing, because it’s got so many forms; just like hatred, you know? Like, with you and me. I can’t ever see a moment where you aren’t in my life in one form or another. My dearest friend and my worst enemy, the person who can make me happier than I’ve ever been and the person who can literally stab me in the back.” Utena grins as she says that last part. “Strange as it is, I wouldn’t want you any other way. What’s ‘normal’, anyway?”

“Utena,” Anthy says, very softly, “are you saying that you love me?”

“Oh, Himemiya,” Utena cups the back of her neck, draws her close, “I’m  _ stupid _ in love with you.” 

They kiss. Utena tastes a little sour, like just-woke-up sour, and human, and real and bright. Anthy sinks into it and throws her arms around Utena’s neck, clings to her and to reality. When they’re done kissing, it’s back to cuddling on the bed. Chu-Chu returns, eventually, chittering with anger. He chooses to snuggle with Utena instead, which is fair, considering how Anthy launched him. 

“I love you too,” Anthy says into the quiet. “I didn’t think I remembered how to. I didn’t think I was...I was allowed. I’d done so many things, you see. I’d been so many people...and so many people had--”

Utena’s arms tighten, just a fraction. Anthy can feel her frowning against her head, but Utena, surprisingly, says nothing yet. 

“--well.” She clears her throat. “I despised you. I envied you. I wanted you so badly. I wanted to hoard you away so that no one could ever spoil you, so that  _ I _ was the only one to spoil you, if it came to it...all of these ugly, selfish emotions, because when you held me and fought for me I felt--”

A pause.

“Not safe,” Anthy admits, “because there was no safety for me in that world, not truly, but you made me  _ feel _ . It’d been so, so long since I’d felt anything at all, but you waltzed into the arena. You said, ‘let’s go home, Himemiya’, and it was the first time anyone had said that to me since Dios. I loved you so much that I wanted to die to save you, and when you didn’t let me, the only way I knew out was to kill you. You would have woken in the real world, Akio and I both knew it, because there’s no real way to die in that fantasy world unless you give yourself to it.”

The birds sing just outside. Muted traffic swells from the streets; honks, distant bass, voices, life. 

“That’s fucked up,” Anthy notes. 

“Yeah,” Utena agrees. “But I wasn’t lying before. I wouldn’t have you any other way. I mean! In a healthy way, of course, I mean, fuck--” 

They laugh together. And, in a few minutes, they cry together, too. Anthy doesn’t think much through that, though; it’s not all sorrow and pain, more just...release, honestly. Catharsis. 

“You asked how the accord works,” Utena says. “Akio came to me, once.” 

Anthy reels back, horrified. “He  _ what? _ ”

“He saw me, and the Swords, and he said--” Utena snickers, like it’s funny, “--I could make a pretty good Rose Bride, if I wanted to get the chance to just walk around again. ‘You’d still be my very special princess’, he said. There was a coffin ready and everything.” 

The fucker. Anthy trembles in place and she feels sick, sick, sick. She can barely breathe through her anger, her disgust, and  _ yes _ in some very small part of her, her betrayal. It wasn’t enough for Akio to use  _ her _ as a receptacle of sin, was it? It wasn’t enough to take Utena from her, to twist them against each other like sandpaper and skin, was it? 

“Himemiya, I got  _ so _ angry,” Utena says. “I mean, like,  _ furious _ . I wanted to punch him so badly, I hated him so much, and the Swords--I dunno, I guess they liked that I hated, too. So they let me punch him, and when we touched...they smelled the prince.” 

“So he’s…?” She drifts off. 

“He’s taking the Swords for us,” Utena says with a shark grin, blade’s in her teeth and rapier points for eyes. It’s beautiful. It’s terrifying. Anthy doesn’t know how to react to Akio and Swords and Akio  _ in _ the  _ Swords _ , because even if he is the scraps left behind of Dios’ passing, he’s still her brother. Then she remembers how he seduced and used and tried to commit Utena into hell, and,  _ well _ , Anthy’s never had the deepest well of sympathy to start with, put simply. 

“They still have me,” Utena admits. “They’re always lingering and whispering, and it’s not like I can use them for any  _ good _ use, but...At least they don’t hurt me anymore! So that’s a plus!”

“I don’t know how to process that,” Anthy says flatly. “This is a lot for a single day. Night. Day. Why did you show up covered in blood?”

“I mean, they still cut,” Utena says, shrugging, “they just don’t hurt.” 

Utena drifts off soon enough, and Anthy is left not-quite alone with questions still swirling in her head than answers. She’s fine waiting a little longer, though; Utena deserves her rest, for however long she can get it. 

Hm, Anthy thinks with a smile that borders on devil-sharp and wicked witch. If the voice of the Swords is tucked against her chest, maybe she’s allowed to forgo any pretense of being a fairy godmother, deep down inside. She can be fully, awfully, human.  _ I haven’t fucked with Nanami in a bit. _

So she reaches to her nightstand and gathers up her phone. Enters her passcode and opens the group chat app that former duelists and escapees of Ohtori use to stay in communication; it’s mostly the remains of the Student Council, save for Touga and Saionji, and their respective human baggage, and also Wakaba, so it’s really not that busy all the time. Still; support groups are in short supply in reality, and Anthy can’t introduce herself to a ring of strangers with _ Hello, I’m Anthy Himemiya. My brother is the Devil and I might be God now. _

As funny as that would be. 

So she’ll settle for ruining Nanami’s day instead. Nicely. She takes a selfie, making sure that Utena’s distinctive face and hair are in frame, and frees up a hand to give the camera a thumbs up. Then she starts to type: 

**YOU:**

Hey Nanami

Are you awake I have a proposition

Are you the gambling type

Wake up I know youre there

@More-cowbell Wake up

@More-cowbell Wake up

@More-cowbell Wake up

@More-cowbell Wake up

**More-cowbell:**

Yes, I’m awake, holy shit stop that!! Why are you so weird all the time! You’re like thirty something, just grow up already. 

Also, a bet? Against  _ moi _ ? OOOOOhohoho! Have you learned nothing from last Tequila Thursday??

(Anthy has learned way too much at Tequila Thursday, actually.)

**YOU** :

So is that a yes or no

**More-cowbell** :

For your own health, it’s gonna be a no. Dummy. 

**YOU:**

Do it or youre straight.

**More-cowbell:**

Fuck you 

What is it. 

**YOU** : 

I bet $200000 that I found Utena for real and shes laying in my bed right now and we are in love and she thinks your brother sucks

**More-cowbell** :

What. 

Okay first of all I’m not betting against that last bit, we all know he sucked. 

**Piano-man:**

it’s like ten am what are we talking about rn

**Vriska-(vriska):**

How much touga sucks lmao

**Piano-man:**

oh so a friday night but in the morning without wine! wait anthy-kun do you have wine??

**YOU:**

No

**Piano-man** : 

then why are you talking about how much touga sucks is it just one of those nights? days? 

**Vriskas-simp:**

Everyone shut up. What was that about Tenjou????

**More-cowbell:**

Weirdo thinks she found Utena and they’re (tw: lesbianisms) in bed together.

**Vriskas-simp:**

You found Utena?!?! 

**Vriska-(vriska):**

Did u rly have 2 tw: lesbians

coward lololol

**Piano-man:**

shiori-kun do you know what irony is?

**Vriska-(vriska):**

I cnt read actly i dont know what that says

juri stop reading the gc outloud 2 me 

gayass

**Dr.Do-lottle:**

Get her ass.

**Vriskas-simp:**

Don’t do this to me.

**YOU:**

So are any of you ridiculously wealthy and damaged and heterophobic people going to take me up on the bet 

Utena will not be asleep for much longer and shes just so kissable

**Vriskas-simp** :

Well. I mean. 

She’s not wrong.

**Vriska-(vriska):**

shes not wrong

omg babe jinxxx

**Dr.Do-lottle:**

Oh thank God you said it not me lololol.

**YOU:**

Clock is ticking

**More-cowbell** : 

Fine oh my god I take the bet!!! You don’t have Utena in your bed but you do have something approximately close for a gotcha! 

Perfect.

**More-cowbell:**

Watch it be a fucking weasel again. A little stoat named Utena that she keeps in her fridge or something.

Anthy sends the selfie. 

**More-cowbell:**

HELLO??????????????????

**Vriska-(vriska):**

OH UCCK< ?? ? / ? / ???

DROPPED MY HPHNE ON Y FCAE

MAAM ??????

**Piano-man** :

TENJOU-kUN REAL?

**Vriskas-simp** :

@Leaf-me-alone

@Leaf-me-alone

@Leaf-me-alone

@Leaf-me-alone

**Leaf-me-alone** :

I got your first ping calm down!!!!

What’s happening!!!

**Dr.Do-lottle** :

Girl scroll up

**Leaf-me-alone:**

Okay?

OKAY?

W

HME

UTENA!!!!!!AAA@@AAA@AAAAAA!?!??!?!

**More-cowbell** :

HOLD THE FUCK UP.

I WANT VIDEO EVIDENCE. 

**Piano-man** :

nanami-kun, you can’t think that anthy-kun would be so cruel as to lie about tenjou-kun for a prank!

its tenjou-kun!!!!

Pre-therapy-Anthy might have done exactly that.  _ But thank you for the vote of confidence, _ Anthy thinks.

**Lead-me-alone:**

BITCH BTI IH MY GIRL THAT MMSY GIRL AAAAAAAAA

**More-cowbell** :

200 GRAND RIDES ON THIS MIKI.

I TAKE NO CHANCES.

VIDEO OR YOU OWE ME BIG BIG 

Well, if that’s how they’re playing this. Anthy hits ‘live’ and waits for everyone to get onto the line. Then she hits mute so that their collective screaming doesn’t wake her sweet little idiot up too violently; Anthy has a very good phone, with very good sound, after all. 

“You’re on mute,” Anthy informs them in a whisper, and then she gently nudges Utena. “Wake up. Nobody believes that you’re here.”

“Huh, wha?” Utena lifts her head. There’s a little drool on the corner of her lips. “Who’s we? Weren’t we cars just now? No, wait... _ I _ was the car. You were in me.” 

“Sure,” Anthy agrees. She sees Kozue fall off screen, catching Miki with an elbow to the face as she does so. She’s absolutely laughing. 

“We were naked,” Utena continues, still half asleep. Nanami looks practically apoplectic. “Did we make out or like...y’know...?”

“While you were a car?”

“No, no, I wasn’t a car when we were making out, it’s a metaphor, Himemiya, keep up,” Utena mumbles. “Can I go back to sleep?”

“In a minute. Do you want to say hi to Wakaba?”

“Oh yeah! Yeah! Wakaba was a car too! I wanted to honk but you wouldn’t push my button.”

Kozue has just gotten up. Upon hearing Utena say that, she falls back down. 

“And Shiori was a car too, I think. She blew up though.” 

Shiori is flipping them off now. Juri is laughing. Miki’s eye is bruised and Wakaba is sobbing openly. Oh, glorious, sweet chaos. Everyone knows that Utena is Utena, because only Utena could be this wonderfully dumb and sweet with a phone in her face. Utena’s naps were legendary in Ohtori; no one dared to duel her while she was half asleep, at her most dangerous.

“One more thing, okay?” 

Utena whines, pouting. 

“What are your thoughts on Touga,” Anthy asks, zooming in. 

“Ew,” says Utena, her nose scrunched up. She holds the W for an inappropriate amount of time. “ _ Himemiyaaa…” _

“You can go back to sleep now,” Anthy coos, and she kisses between Utena’s eyes. Utena snuggles up to her shoulder with a drowsy mumble of her name, then Wakaba’s, tender, and then she’s out. Anthy blows a kiss to the screen, and ends the call. 

**More-cowbell** :

FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

Congratulations on finding her, though

**YOU:**

<3

**More-cowbell:**

BUT FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOUFUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

**Dr.Do-lottle:**

Okay but honestly would you smash her as a car is the question

**YOU** :

Youre asking if I would have sex

With Utena

If she were a car

**Dr.Do-lottle:**

Yes

**YOU:**

Absolutely do I look like a coward

**Vriskas-simp:**

Cussy. (Car pussy.)

**Dr.Do-lottle:**

Girl thats just the fuel pump

**Piano-man** : 

shiori-kun how did you become illiterate again?

i want to be that three minutes ago.

**Vriska-(vriska):**

juri if i rly were a car wuld u still ride me

Juri

juri dnt laugh @ me

Juri plz 

Anthy, while the chaos begins all over again, works on texting Wakaba to arrange the beginnings of a reunion. It’ll be a while, at least a month of coordination, but Anthy has no intention of moving so suddenly with Utena back in her life. No, no, she wants this cozy reality where Utena can have all the friends that Akio robbed her of, that the apocalypse and eternity tried to deny. 

Anthy will give her everything and more.

(Nanami sends her the full amount over the next three days.)

(There is a middle finger emoji accompanying each deposit.)


End file.
